Harry Potter and The Boy Who Lived
by Narciel123
Summary: Harry Potter is 22, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. When he goes to face Voldemort down one final time, and everything goes wrong, he's thrown back into Hogwarts, and given one final chance of being the boy who lived.
1. The Fruits of His Labours

A.N./ Hello, and welcome my good peoples. This here be my first HP fic, so take it easy on me. Anyways, yes I realize Tonks hasn't shown up yet. Well, she won't for a few chapters really, but she'll show up soon. And without further adieu, I give you the first chapter of Harry Potter and The Boy Who Lived.

**Chapter 1- The Fruits of His Labour**

A cold wind snaked through the trees surrounding the quiet village of Hogsmead. Normally, this cheerful little town would be alive with fun, alight with fires roaring inside the taverns and littered with students who had snuck out of Hogwarts for moonlit rendezvous with their lovers.

Tonight, the town was asleep, the taverns closed and the Hogwarts students absent. In fact, Hogsmead was almost completely dark. Only one light was on. This light came from the window second on the right above Madame Rosmerta's tavern. Sitting in this room, which Rosmerta kept for her close friends and personal guests to stay in to visit, was Harry Potter, now 22.

His hair was as untamed as it had been when he was 16, although considerably longer. In fact it went down to just about his neck. His bangs hung down into his piercing green eyes, which were looking out into the darkness of Hogsmead's main square. Harry was no longer the scrawny boy he was in his youth. His _chasseur_ training had filled him out considerably. Now instead of giving the impression of being about to get blown away by a gust of wind, Harry exuded a sense of unmovable power.

There was a soft knock on the door before the lovely Rosmerta pushed it open. Despite the fact that Rosmerta was no longer young, she still exuded beauty, her raven hair cascading down onto her crimson red night gown.

"Harry?" Responding to the calling of his voice, Harry looked at the aging barmaid, and let out a rare smile. Rosmerta was one of the few people who didn't treat Harry like a hero, but treated him like… Harry. Maybe it was because she had been entertaining students from Hogwarts for most of her life, but she also had a very calming presence. The fact that she had known his parents and god father only underlined this connection.

Harry had been staying at the tavern ever since he graduated from Hogwarts. At first it was because he wanted to be as close to the first real home he had ever had as possible, but over the course of the summer following graduation the little room had really became home to him, and when he left in September for France to begin training for his profession of choice, it almost broke his heart.

Harry was a _chasseur_, although in English this means "hunter", his profession was similar to that of a muggle bounty hunter, although with no limitations to the amount of force he could apply to capture his targets. Really, this was one of the two reasons Harry had chosen this career over that of the auror. As an auror he'd have to answer to the Ministry of Magic's authority, but as a chasseur he was his own boss. He only regretted that he had to take his training overseas, specifically, in France. For although most countries employed the expertise of chasseurs, they didn't condone the training of them within their borders.

Why? Because they didn't want to seem like heartless, training people to use any force necessary (including the dark arts) to dispatch of a mark. It was because of this that Harry tried to be quite quiet about what he did for a living. It was generally seen as unclean, dirty. Thank god for the French, who despite their "_oui oui!_"s and generally uptight behavior, still trained chasseurs. The one country in the world who didn't give a damn about what other people thought, is the one country that got a horrible rap. In fact, during his two year stint in Paris (rooming with Ms. Fleur Delacour, nonetheless) Harry had come to love the French as much as the people from his native Britain. A fleeting memory of a steamy night underneath _Le Tour de Eiffel _with Madam Delacour caused Harry's smile to grow just a little bit more.

"Go to bed, Rosmerta. I'm just thinking." Reassured Harry, waving his hand at his land lady. Rosmerta gave Harry a concerned look, before closing the door. Harry listened closely before he was sure she had settled comfortably in her bed, before dimming his room's light, opening the window, and shimmying out onto the roof.

As Harry's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the main plaza, and proceeded cautiously atop the moonlight tavern, his conscious mind began to stray. He began to remember times from his days at Hogwarts; memories of Ron, Hermione and himself sitting around the fire, laughing along with the rest of Gryffindor house at Fred and George's antics. A small smile flitted across his face as he vaulted from roof to roof, making sure to remain quiet at all times, slowly making his way towards the outer edge of town.

His smile became more pronounced as he reflected on his embarrassment and inexperience during his first kiss with Cho, and his confidence and romanticism with Fleur during his training. He also recalled the brief but… hot relationships he had shared with Alicia Spinnet and Ginny Weasley. As Harry reached the final rooftop, he slid down a drain pipe, grimacing as he slid over a metal bolt.

With his feet on firm ground again, Harry's mind now wandered back to the graveyard of Voldermort's father where this nightmare had all started again. The fresh dew on the ground as well as the thin mist made it easy for Harry to think of a blinding green light piercing his eyelids and seeing Cedric falling to the ground, his eyes blank and lifeless. He swiftly dashed into the darkness of the Forbidden forest, and as he was shrouded by the shadows of the trees he was reminded of Sirius falling into the veil, that unforgiving darkness, engulfing the handsome face he would never see again.

Harry slipped from tree to tree, remembering himself and Dumbledore retrieving what they believed to be one of Voldemort's horcruxes. Silently, the young hunter released his wands from his arm holsters. In his left hand popped out the same wand he had received from Ollivander 11 years earlier, complete with Fawkes' tail feather, and in his right had popped out an extremely ornamental ebony wand. Gold highlights snaked around it to form a grip, all of this concealing the powerful core of veela hair. Fleur's, to be precise. Turns out, half veela- half human hair makes a far more reliable core than pure veela.

Harry slowed from his brisk pace to a stealthy crawl as a green glow began to permeate the air around him. As he neared the clearing where his fate would be decided, his mind recalled one of his last memories at Hogwarts - Dumbledore being hit by Snape's killing curse and flying off the towers of the school that the old professor loved oh so dearly.

Harry continued forward practically. He knew this would be either where he died, or where he could begin to truly live his own life, without the shadow of this burden plaguing him. And as this crossed his mind, he remembered another time when he thought the same thing, specifically, at Godric's hollow, when he had been consumed by arrogance and challenged Voldemort to a duel. He had not been ready then, and had only survived due to sheer luck. A repeat of the events in his fourth year. Priori Incantatem. But this time, Harry was sure that he wouldn't be running into that lucky break again. Why? Because after priori incantatem was split, the core of Voldemort's wand was shattered. Channeling the evil that was Voldemort's magic for the past 30 years had been too much for the tail feather of the noblest creature Harry had ever laid eyes upon.

But now, 5 years later, Harry was ready to face old snake face once more. The green tinge in the air surrounding Harry was like a fog now. Harry remembered how he had come to the knowledge that Voldemort was planning an attack on Hogsmead tonight, and how he had made preparations.

Harry came to a silent halt and looked into the clearing in front of him. Black robed death eaters circled the dark mark which was hanging a few meters off the ground. Underneath the mark, stood the Lord of Darkness.

Harry took in a breath. Now.

Now was the time to witness the fruits of his labour.


	2. That Bloody Bastard

A.N./ Welcome to chapter two of Harry Potter and the Boy Who Lived. We'll start off with my replies to a few of the questions that you readers asked;

**Cocoa Girl2**, who the hell said Harry had went back in time yet?  
**Shade Emrys, **there will be multiple parings. Harry/Fleur and Harry/Tonks are both definites, but I'm reluctant to do any m/f/f pairings. So basically, we'll see.

**Chapter 2- That Bloody Bastard**

"…now is the time to strike my death eaters! Too long has this puny marching ground opposed us! The beginning of the end is now!" spoke Voldemort, in a cold controlled tone. Harry was reminded of a snake nonetheless. Voldemort looked physically diminished, noticed Harry, but was more imposing than ever. He was a sickly white, and deathly thin. To the raven haired hero, it looked like Voldemort had glued his skin to his bones. There seemed to not be a single ounce of fat on him.

Or muscle, for that matter. A bead of sweat slipped down Harry's forehead as he looked for it. The final horcrux. Nagini. He had been able to destroy all of them but that bloody snake by the time he graduated Hogwarts. And he'd almost had that stupid creature at Godric's Hollow before snake face showed up.

"We march on Hogwarts in 10 minutes. Meet at the edge of the forest, on Hogsmead's eastern side." As Voldemort wrapped up his inspirational speech, the 60 or so death eaters in the clearing began to clear off. Harry muttered under his breath as the majority of them began to head his way:

_"Tergus!"_ a small weight pressed on Harry's body as the spell produced a blanket of camouflage that would blend him in perfectly to the ground. Harry came very close to being stepped on as the death eaters walked past, and was quite tempted to curse a few of them as they walked past, but managed to curb the impulse.

Soon Voldemort was the only one left in the clearing. His eyes were locked on the dark mark above his head. Before he hissed out, in parsel tongue;

"_Naginiiii" _A hiss was heard as the snake slither out from the gaping mouth of the dark mark, swaying along with the snake that came out of the image's mouth. It was entrancing, watching her flow along gracefully. _Shame I have to kill the thing, _thought Harry as he watched the creature, getting his wands ready.

He brought his veela core wand up, aiming for the swaying snake's neck… or as close as it had to a neck.

"_Diffindo." _Whispered Harry calmly. A quiet rushing sound was heard, and seconds later, the snake's head fell to the ground, and the headless body fell limp, no longer swaying. Blood spurted from the dead body of Nagini, splattering onto Voldemort's face, shortly followed by his robes.

The Dark Lord whipped around faster than Harry thought possible, wand out aiming just above Harry, speaking before Harry had time to react.

"_Flagrate!" _Rasped Voldemort, causing a line of fire to erupt from the tip of his wand, lashing into the trees, setting fire to the trunks of the trees in front of Harry. The flames spread quickly into the dry leaves on the ground, and onto the treetops, jumping from tree to tree, ringing the clearing.

Harry shot out from his blanket of camouflage as the flames lashed into the tree in front of him, and dove into the clearing as the tree was set alight. Harry come up onto one knee, with both wands up and point at Voldemort. Harry could see specks of Nagini's blood running down the Dark Lord's cheek, and could see the fires of hatred ignited as Voldemort realized who he was looking at.

"Potter."

"Snake face. Long time no see."

Said Harry smoothly, not taking his eyes off of Voldemort, keeping his wand trained on possibly the most dangerous wizard of all time. _Constant vigilance, Harry. Constant vigilance. _Slowly, the boy who lived rose to both feet.

"Can't say I missed you though. You look like hell. Girl problems?"

Harry couldn't believe his own audacity. Here he was, looking death in the eye, and he had the balls to make idle chit chat.

"Enough of this. _Crucio_."

Harry side stepped the curse, before muttering under his breath.

"_Langlock." _

The blue spell shot out from his left hand wand, accompanied by a red stunning spell which Harry had cast wordlessly. Voldemort waved his wand in a counter clock wise motion, an alternative to the shield charm, sending the two spells harmlessly into the fires surrounding the two combatants.

Voldemort jabbed his wand forward, before doing something very uncharacteristic of him.

"_Pulsus"_ Harry groaned as he was rammed into a wall of super condensed air, which threw him backwards, before dissipating. _Where the fuck does he get off using a pushing curse? _It took him a millisecond to remember the fires raging just a meter or two behind him. _Oh, right._

"_Sursum!_" Harry felt himself land on a cloud of air, before flipping back onto his feet, and casting a quick _'Avis!' _ and summoning a flock of canaries to block Vodlemort's incoming death curse. _Time to up the ante! _Thought Harry, before apparating behind the Dark Lord. His right leg flew out even as he was midway through his apparition, and struck Voldemort on the small of his back.

The terror of the wizarding world flew forward from the impact of the kick, but somehow managed to take aim at Harry through his legs and roar "_CRUCIO!"_ Harry felt an immense amount of pain wrack his body as the spell made contact, but it quickly abated as Voldemort crashed into the ground, breaking his concentration. Harry pointed his wand at the pale bastard and gasped out;

"_Terrenus tumbus!"_ the ground around Voldemort trembled for a second before shooting up and forming the shape of a casket around him, a tomb of earth. Harry heard the sound of Voldemort firing a curse at the earth surrounding him, but his tomb did not disappear, as he had thought it would, though it did give a noticeable shudder. The spell had been designed to withstand powerful curses, but Harry was pretty sure that it wouldn't last another one of Voldemort's. Bloody bastard.

Harry brought both of his wands to bear on the temporary prison of Voldemort. _Come on, Harry. You've got him. One more spell. _Harry could feel exhaustion on the edge of his mind. Dueling dark lords really takes it out of you. Harry's mind dredged up the most powerful spell he knew. _If this doesn't work… well I'm dead if this doesn't work, I suppose. _

"_Uranicus…"_a small ball of white light grew around the tips of Harry's wands, growing larger with every passing moment. "_Lux…_" small particles of white light appeared in the air and began to get sucked into the orbs connected to his wands. The orb began to shake lightly. "_Lucis_!" The two orbs, about the size of basketballs, merged into an orb the size of a filing cabinet, before firing a beam of white light out of itself. As the beam of light traveled towards Voldemort's place of imprisonment, the orb began to shrink, and continued to do so, pouring the collective energy into the beam of white, destructive energy. The hair's on the back of Harry's neck prickled as he channeled that amount of pure magic. Time seemed to slow down for Harry Potter.

This was it. The pinnacle of his life. Here, Voldemort would die, gone for good, and Harry wouldn't have to live with the shadows of that bastard hanging over him. He would go find a nice local girl to shack up with once he was done. _Yes. I deserve a good lay._ And then Harry felt his exhaustion begin to set in. _Oh no. _It grew more powerful, and he saw darkness begin to cloud his vision. _Oh no, oh no. _The beam of energy was diminishing. Fast, Growing rapidly smaller as Harry lost consciousness. _Please… Don't do this. _Harry found himself pleading with something, a higher being perhaps. _Don't let me fail. Haven't I suffered enough?_

Harry's groveling didn't pay off. His magical core was exhausted. Completely spent. The curse which Harry had hoped would be his salvation, popped into non-existence. _Why… Why… Why…_ the thought bounced around his head. He didn't notice as a purple light burst from the tomb of earth surrounding Voldemort, sending it into non-existence.

Harry felt his palms fall into the earth in front of him. Now on all fours, a tear streaked down Harry's dirt covered cheek. _Why…_ If the boy who lived had had any strength with him, he would have made a fist. Maybe even punched the ground. Sure, it wouldn't have changed anything. But it would have made him feel a lot better. An image of a pretty brunette he'd seen in Hogsmead on occasion flitted through his mind. _Why…_

Voldemort trained his wand on the exhausted young man. Harry didn't hear Voldemort telling him that he was happy that 'young potter' had learned his place before he died: Bowing in front of him.

Harry's mind was elsewhere. More specifically, it was in France, eating a croissant on the _Champs-Élysées_ with Fleur, then studying madly for his NEWTS, which he did acceptably on, alongside Hermione and Ron. He remembered frequent meetings in various broom cupboards with Ginny, and on separate occasions, with Alicia. He even remembered a fire whiskey induced kiss with Hermione one Halloween. He regretted them never talking about it. It might have gone somewhere. Instead, they had drifted apart after graduation.

But Harry's mind was snapped back to reality as he heard Voldemort utter those two words.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

Harry looked up, to find his vision to be full of a blinding lime green.

* * *

Hermione Granger let out an enormous yawn, stretching her arms above her. Now 22, she was working as an Auror. A rising star, she'd be directly responsible for the uncovering of several vampire cells supporting Voldemort, as well as the arrest and detainment of thirteen death eaters. She had been in active service for 7 months.

She was no longer the brainy bookwork she had been during her days at Hogwarts, although she still enjoyed reading as often as possible. She had filled out quite a bit since she had graduated. Sure, she hadn't been ugly during her school days, but she hadn't been pretty. Now, she had curves to die for, the softest hair anyone could imagine, and a sort of… naughty librarian appeal about her. Despite having changed a lot from her times at Hogwarts, she found herself thinking about those days sitting around the fire more often than not.

Getting out of bed, Hermione stretched again, thrusting her hips out, raising her entwined fingers into the air. Sleepily, the brunette threw open her closet, and selected a suitable outfit for the day. A set of no-nonsense robes were thrown on after a quick shower. Moving into the kitchen of her small flat, Hermione began to prepare herself a cup of coffee.

A sharp knock on her window announced the arrival of an owl, which carried the Daily Prophet. Hermione opened the window, and took the paper off the owl's leg, before putting a knut into the pouch around it's other leg. The mainly nocturnal creature flew off, and Hermione put the paper on the table, and poured herself the coffee. Settling down at the table Hermione lifted up her mug, and unrolled the news paper.

The shattering of glass was heard as Hermione dropped her mug onto the floor, where it broke and spilled its scalding hot contents onto the floor. But the muggle born brainiac didn't notice. She was staring horrified at the headline of the paper.

**_HARRY POTTER: THE BOY WHO DIED_**

Accompanying this, was a picture of a mutilated corpse, bloodied, lying on the ground, eyes still open. The easily recognizable lightning bolt scar lay bare to the world.

But it was those two lifeless green eyes, normally alight with good humour and hope, that destroyed Hermione.


	3. Checking Out

AN: Hello, and welcome. It's that time again. A new chapter, and this time, at a length that I'm a bit happier with. But first, to answer some reviews:

**Gohan'slittlebro47**done, and done ;)  
**The rest of you, **why, thank you.

Now that that's out of the way, I give you;

A disclaimer: Harry Potter, and all things associated with him, belong to JK Rowling. I own nothing.

**Chapter 3- Checking Out**

Harry groaned. His face heart. So did his arms. In fact, pretty much everything hurt. But his face hurt the most.

Harry groaned again. _Is this what being dead feels like?_ Still groaning, Harry decided to attempt speech.

"Urgh." _I guess that was alright. _Harry lifted his face off of the dirt ground, but kept his eyes closed. _I've felt worse, _decided Harry. _Not much worse though. _Harry opened his right eye a crack before shutting it quickly. A few minutes later, he opened his right eye about halfway, followed by his left, then they both shot wide open.

_Stellar._

Harry was knocked breathless. He was rocketing down a purple tunnel at a speed he couldn't even begin to comprehend. Warm gusts of wind swirled around, propelling him further, faster and faster. Harry stayed like this for a time, allowing himself to plummet down the purple tunnel, in a state of blatant shock. As, Harry slowly regained control of his mind; he decided to see just how bad his injuries were.

Slowly, Harry began to lift his arm, which had been pinned to his side, out towards the wall on his side. The wind gusting from behind him caught a hold of Harry's robes, and suddenly Harry felt himself go into a wild spin. The wind wrapped itself around Harry, grabbing at his robes, and whipping him out of its way. Harry flailed his arms in an attempt to stop himself from crashing into the impossibly smooth walls of the tunnel.

But as Harry found himself being thrown towards the wall, the wind grabbing him and spinning him forwards, left, right and diagonally, that the walls weren't smooth. In fact, as he drew closer, he saw that there were solid rocks jutting out of them.

As Harry felt himself thrown around in a full circle, he managed to grasp to some degree the vastness of the tunnel. The cylindrical tunnel had a diameter easily three kilometers long. And as Harry was spun around again, he caught sight of hundred of people, just like him.

People old and young, Asian, African and Caucasian, and despite their cultural differences, all of them united in the fact that they were plummeting down an impossibly large purplish tunnel, being spun in all directions. Quite possibly, just as bewildered as he was - judging by the confused looks on their faces.

It was shocking that Harry hadn't ran into one of them really. There were so many. _So this is what being dead feels like, huh? It's not so bad. _Harry continued spinning off into the depths of the tunnel.

As time went past, Harry slowly began to gain control over his direction, although he couldn't stop himself from going down, he figured out how to move left and right, albeit very slowly. It was quite simple really. A matter of aerodynamics. Snap your hands and legs together, and you go down, no more of that tumbling business. Throw out your right hand, go left, throw out the left hand, go right. Easy.

Applying this, Harry fluttered down the tunnel, idly giving thought to the idea of going to sleep, while throttling past American punk rockers, and tumbling around elderly Chinese farmers.

Eventually Harry did close his eyes, allowing sleep to overtake him. Although he didn't seem to have retained any of the physical damage his duel with Voldemort had resulted in, he was still dead tired.

* * *

Fleur Delacour awoke with a shiver, and pulled her blankets closer around her. The beautiful part veela closed her eyes, blocking out the images of the dreams that had been plaguing her for the past few nights. It was always the same. She let out an impossibly quiet whimper as the memory of the dream surfaced.

_Harry, her darling, sat in a room. The darkest of rooms, tied to a simple straight-backed wooden chair. There was a spotlight on him, casting shadows on his downcast face. His hands were bound behind his back._

_Fleur would take one step forward, but Harry would stay the same distance away. Fleur would take another step, and Harry would let out a pathetic whimper, as she could not seem to get any closer to him. As Fleur would take her third step, always the third step, Harry would look up, and the light would flood his face._

_His eyes were dead, lifeless. There was no shine in them, only a numb cold. A trail of blood would trickle from his mouth, down onto his chin. He would cough roughly, and more blood would gush from his mouth. _

_This is when Fleur would start to run towards her love. Reaching out for him desperately, relieved that he was moving closer. That relief would turn to dread as she attempted to untie him but failed._

"…_Mon Amour… Fleur… my love…" he would choke out, more blood escaping his mouth. Fleur would reach her hands out, to lightly grasp his cheeks, before kissing him softly, ignoring the metallic taste of his blood. _

"_I've never been… honest with you…" Fleur would scrape her fingers lightly through his hair, and try to say something, but no words would come out. "Never, Fleur... You remember… when I told you… you were the… only one…" Fleur could see that with every word Harry spoke he died a little more._

"_Yes, 'Arry. I love 'ou too, but please be…"_

"_I lied." And that was when his eyes would flash back to life, and stare a hole straight into her soul. Harry's face would blur, as though Fleur was crying, although she felt no tears, and be replaced with an older version of himself. A scar crossing along his jawline made him a far more imposing figure. He looked hardened and almost defeated, as though he had seen things worse than anybody could imagine, before doing those things himself._

_He would smile at her, and lean forward to kiss her, and Fleur would always lean forward, only to find herself slide right through him. She would whip around, and see him, her Harry, kissing some pink haired harlot. This time, Fleur really did feel the tears well up in her eyes as Harry blurred. _

_The scene would shift again, to this older, more battle scarred Harry, and an elder version of herself, Fleur would realize. They were kissing underneath the Eiffel tower, the night lights igniting as their lips brushed together. _

_Once again a new scene would emerge in her subconscious mind. Now Harry, with graying hairs around his temples would be sitting outside on the porch of a house, drinking lemonade while reading the Daily Prophet. A small girl, maybe 4 years old, would run out of the house, platinum locks flying behind her, and Fleur would feel a sense of elation in her chest. This child, she could feel, was hers. However, this sense of elation would be crushed as a smiling brunette in an apron, would step out onto the deck, lift up the child, and kiss Harry softly._

_The final scene change would happen as tears flowed down Fleur's cheeks. Harry, maybe 14 years old, exactly as she remembered him from the tri-wizard's tournament, was on his knees, clutching his head screaming in pain. Then, the Harry she knew, the one that she had grown to love so dearly would walk forward, and touch his younger self on the shoulder, and whisper something Fleur could not hear._

_But the 14 year old Harry stood from his knees, a resolute expression on his face, and walked out of her view. Her Harry would stand up, and look at her with a smile that she knew too well. It was the playful smile he would give her before pulling her off on one of his ridiculous antics throughout Paris. He would turn then, looking over his shoulder to give her another smile, before a green burst of light flew out of the darkness and struck him on the chest._

_Fleur would rush forward, but was horrified as for every step she took towards Harry, he seemed to move two steps away, and would stop and could only watch as her love fell to his knees, that smile still on his face, and fall to the floor._

_Then… then something would always happen… But Fleur never remembered what._

Fleur gripped her pillow harder, and shook her head, but the dream wouldn't leave her mind. She punched her bed. Damn that Harry Potter. Damn him for making her feel like this. Damn him for being so damn… Harry. But most of all, damn him for leaving her here, all alone, after the most amazing night of her life with nothing left of him but a letter saying that he had to go back to London, and stop running from his past.

The beautiful part veela got out of her large bed, and yawned, although, as with everything else she did, with incredible grace. A few lithe steps brought her to her ridiculously large closet, which she opened, and began browsing through, looking for something to wear. She eventually decided upon a white skirt, and a red blouse.

A half hour later, a fully dressed Fleur Delacour exited her bedroom, her hair softly curling down her back. As was her custom, Fleur walked down the soft red carpet of the Delacour manor, headed towards the main dining room. As she walked, she couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur of her home. Pedestals held up quaint family treasures, and portraits of various deceased family members and exotic places were hung on the walls. Enormous pillars spanned the 18 foot distance between the floor and gracefully arching roof. Every 6 feet, a rectangular pane of glass allowed the sunlight to pour in, illuminating the hall.

As Fleur entered the main dining room, she smiled softly. Gabrielle, her little Gabby, was sitting at the table, eating a croissant. Though she realized Gabrielle, was no longer a little girl anymore. Now 16, she was gorgeous. Her pale skin was completely unblemished, and her hair, just a few shades darker than Fleur's own, was pulled into a pony tail. She had filled out considerably in the chest, and developed a stomach that most women would die for. Her legs were long and sexy, the perfect addition to a body which oozed sensuality.

Her mother sat at the head of the table, her hair cut to her shoulders. Her blonde hair, while still quite blonde, was duller than her two daughters. Not quite gray, but not quite the shiny platinum blonde it had been when she was younger. The beginnings of crow feet were noticeable, branching out from her bright blue eyes. Evidence of smiling just a little too wide and laughing just a little too hard was present in the tiny wrinkles forming around her mouth. She didn't look old, not really. Isabelle Delacour was still beautiful. She seemed wiser than her two daughters, and at 143, it was well deserved.

Her father had not withstood the test of time half as well as her veela mother. His crowfeet were prominent, outlining his stony grey eyes, and his laugh lines were very strong and deep, like trenches, crisscrossing his once unblemished skin. His remaining hair was completely white. Despite looking far more his age than his wife, Jean Delacour still looked far younger than he was. A few years shy of 130, he had been granted extended life as a result of mating with a veela.

The dining room itself was circular, with pearly white walls and pillars being prominent. Golden highlights adorned these, displaying the family's obvious wealth. A large circular glass pane took up the majority of the roof, allowing the sun's light to shine through. A sizeable fireplace took up the wall opposite from the entrance. The marble table where her family was seated was in the center of the room, and the small service entrance that connected the kitchen to this room was to Fleur's right.

Taking her customary seat across from Gabby, Fleur took a croissant off of the table, and nibbled on it, still slightly disturbed by her dream. Gabrielle took notice of this, and threw a grape onto her older sister's plate, which caused Fleur to raise her gaze in a somewhat annoyed fashion. The younger of the two beauties raised her eyebrow, and gave Fleur a mischievous look.

"Thinking about _Monsieur 'Arry,_ dearest Fleur?"

Fleur threw her younger sister a dirty look as her father raised his gaze from his plate with a fire in his eyes, and her mother leaned back into her chair and gave Fleur an amused look.

"_Fermez votre bouche, Gabby!_"

Fleur accompanied her seething remark with a kick under the table. Jean and Isabelle both gave Fleur disapproving looks, before Jean said.

"Fleur, _mon belle_, whenever are you going to forget about that boy? Why just yesterday that young Andre was over asking for your company. When are you going to see that a rascal like that _Potter _just isn't right for you?"

Isabelle's disapproving gaze shifted from her eldest daughter to her husband.

"Jean, I've told you. Even _I _don't like that Andre. I would much rather see Fleur with _Monsieur Potter,_"Here, she gave an amused look at Gabrielle, whose face flushed, "than him."

Jean Delacour looked scandalized, his mouth hanging half open looking at his wife.

"But Isa, He's Brit-" he was interrupted as one of the house elves came scurrying into the room, carrying the morning paper. The short elf, who Fleur faintly recalled being named Eliza, set the paper in front of Jean, as she was instructed to do every morning.

Although he had been in the middle of an argument, Jean Delacour wasted no time in picking up the paper, and taking a look at the headline. Fleur expected him to put the paper down again and finish his "He's British!" insult, but was proved wrong when the only male member of the Delacour family, continued staring at the headline, dumbfounded. Slowly, he unfolded the paper, which seemed to only add to his shock.

"Jean?" Asked a concerned Isabelle Delacour. Her husband, a man of many words, had never been struck into silence during an argument. Never. Jean's response was to look down at the paper, before floating it over to his wife, his eyes glued to it. Isabelle snatched it out of the air, before having a reaction similar to her husbands in every aspect.

"_Mama?_" spoke Fleur and Gabrielle in unison. Isabelle Delacour looked at Fleur, horrified, before putting the table down in between her two daughters. Two gasps were heard, before Gabrielle said;

"_Mon Dieu."_

On the front page of the paper, was the mangled body of one Harry James Potter, the headline reading **Harry Potter, _Trouve Morte_. **Fleur gazed at the paper for a second, before fainting.

* * *

All across wizarding Europe, this scene was playing out. Sometimes the headline would be in Bulgarian; sometimes it would be in Italian. People would be waking up ready to face another normal day, only to open up their morning to paper and freeze in shock. Although the majority of Harry Potter's fame was in Great Britain, his name was still no small name in mainland Europe. 

In Britain, teenage girls shrieked, and grown men weeped. There was general panic among the populace. The ministry of magic was swamped with the concerned populace, but it did no good for the government that its own employees were leaving their desks to go join the mob in the lobby, demanding answers as to why their hero was dead.

It was around 6 in the evening, that Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour left his office, looking rather stretched. The angry crowd, which had only gotten larger as the day passed, quieted as they waited for the elected head of the government to speak. As he approached the stage, the aging minister was silent for a few minutes, choosing to simply look into the crowd. If anybody had cared to appraise the minister's looks right now, they would have told you that he looked far older than he had only a day ago. Wrinkles had began to show on his face, and the gray in his hair were more plentiful and prominent than ever. Deep bags had developed under his eyes, and his robes looked shoddy, as if thrown on in a hurry.

Eventually, murmurings began in the crowd, which is when Scrimgeour decided to open his mouth. No words came out, but it served it's purpose by shutting up the crowd for a few more minutes. As the irritated crowd showed signs of starting again, Scrimgeour spoke:

"Harry Potter is dead because…" The minister's eyes glinted strangely. "Harry Potter is dead because he was a fucking _fool._" Scrimgeour let out a deep belly laugh, before whipping his wand out, and pointing it directly at his forehead.

Silence reined the hall for that moment. A dry sob was heard, and if you payed attention to Scrimgeour, you would have seen a tear roll down his hard features. His mouth moved, forming those six syllables.

"_Avada Kedavra." _A green beam of light flashed out from the minister of magic's wand, and slammed into his own forehead. He fell to the ground, dead, and a clatter echoed around the hall as his wand rolled away. There was silence. A young woman burst out from the lifts, and ran to the body of the dead minister. She stopped above him, and looked down at his remains. She sobbed, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. Nobody really noticed her though. They were all trying to comprehend that the minister of magic had insulted their dead hero, before killing himself. The man that they had expected to make things just a little bit better, or at least blame for the death of Harry Potter, now lay dead on the tiled floor of the Ministry of Magic.

The woman fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. She placed Scrimgeour's head on her lap, and let her tears fall onto his body. Her name was Peggy. She had been Scrimgeour's assistant, after Percy Weasley had quit. She was crying, not because she had admired Rufus Scrimgeour, but because she had overheard what had pushed her arrogant boss to do this.

He had the answers. He knew why the wizarding world's savior was dead. Harry Potter had left a note at his place of residence, which Madame Rosemerta had tearfully allowed a squad of Aurors to look over. It detailed the outlines of the prophecy, and told of how he was going to face down the dark lord once and for all. Peggy had overheard Scrimgeour being briefed by the Auror who had headed the search just minutes before Scrimgeour had walked out of his office, looking far too calm. If only Peggy had followed him, maybe he wouldn't be lying here dead.

Everything in wizarding Britain was going to hell. First, Dumbledore, the only wizard You-Know-Who had ever feared had died, and then Harry Potter, the Chosen One, as he had been christened. And now, when things were at there grimmest, the minister for magic goes and kills himself in the hour when he was needed most.

That was why Peggy was crying. Because she knew that the world was no longer a safe place for her children.

* * *

The Burrow, usually a cheerful place, was completely silent. Nothing in the surrounding area seemed to be moving, an air of quiet mourning hung over the untidy home. Everything reeked of sorrow, as if a cloud of depression had settled over the area. The only movement came from the kitchen window of the Weasley household. 

Ron was pacing back and forth, his eyes bloodshot, his hands balled into fists. He was squeezing his hands so much that his knuckles were begging to turn white. His fiery red hair was a mess, shooting off in random directions. He was still tall and lanky, although he did have a fair amount of muscle on him. He had a pale complexion which contrasted his hair deeply.

Ginny Weasley was sitting at the table, her equally red hair falling messily around her. Her blue eyes were shot with crimson, a sign of her crying recently. A quite damp newspaper sat in front of her. Arthur Weasley stood behind his daughter, hand on her shoulder, doing his best to keep it together in front of his kids, but it was not hard for one to see the tears forming in his eyes.

In the living room, Fred and George sat together, wearing their Gryffindor blazers, on the couch, with their feet on the coffee table. They had been sitting like that when their mother had burst into the room in hysterics, waving the daily prophet around. Their eyes were burning holes into the wall in front of them. Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell were in the room as well. Katie, with her hand on Fred's shoulder, was desperately trying to get her boyfriend to say something. She was doing her best to hold in her tears.

Angelina on the other hand, wasn't even trying. Tears streamed down her face, as she desperately pleaded with George. She was on her knees in front of him, pleading with him to talk to her, to say anything. But he just kept staring at the wall. Out in the back, Charlie and Bill were both seated on the grass. Both had thus far managed to hold back their sorrows. They had not bonded with Harry in the same way as the people inside the house after all, but Harry Potter was not a hard person to come to care for. They held back tears, but not without great difficulty.

The two eldest Weasley sons headed into the house as they heard a wail from their parent's room. Molly Weasley, who had sobbed herself to sleep early in the day, awoke with a fresh wave of sorrow - Harry Potter was like a son to her. It didn't matter that he had been training to be a professional hit wizard for the past 5 years or so. In her eyes, he would always be the handsome 11 year old who didn't know how to get onto Platform 9 and three quarters to her.

Losing Harry James Potter hurt her as acutely as losing Ron, Fred, or any one of her children would. Even Percy. She could barely remember what her life had been like before that black haired child had entered her life with his ridiculous endeavors, and even more ridiculous hair.

As Mrs. Weasley let out another wail of sorrow, Ron Weasley stopped his pacing. The youngest male Weasley quietly exited the kitchen, and entered the living room, where Katie had joined Angelina on the floor, crying desperately. As Ron entered the room, he looked at his twin brothers for a moment, before walking up to them. Angelina and Katie's sobs quieted a little as they saw their respective boyfriends eyes move towards Ron.

Ronald Weasley had never been a leader. A fighter sure, but never a leader. Indecision had followed him his entire life. He moved with the crowds more often than not. So it was a rare moment when he felt like he had something important to say. Now was one of these moments.

"I… I can't believe he's gone." Tears erupted from Ron's eyes, and his fists unclenched and he desperately hugged Fred, who was now crying due to Ron, little Ronniekins' admission of pain. George, also crying, joined in the embrace. Katie and Angelina both launched themselves into the group hug. Upstairs, Bill and Charlie hugged their crying mother, wanting for nothing more than to ease her pain.

In the Kitchen, Arthur Weasley hugged his only daughter, rubbing her back as she cried into his shoulder.

"It'll be okay, baby…" Arthur cooed as he kissed Ginny's hair. "It'll all be okay…"

_

* * *

_

_Mmmmm…That was a nice dream… _That pretty girl in Hogsmead had been back. She seemed to have lost her clothes, and thought they were somewhere in Harry's pants. Harry hadn't argued when she searched for them. Harry opened his eyes to find he was no longer in the ridiculously large cylinder. Instead, he was lying on a bed, inside a very purple room. There were no windows, or doors. Just some purple walls, ceilings and floors. He sat up in his bed, and looked around. It was a perfectly empty purple room.

No night stands or anything like that. Harry absent mindedly pulled his wand out of his arm holster and twirled it in a circle, wondering where the hell he might be. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed, touching them to the ground. Harry immediately felt a very subtle vibration in the floor, which lasted only a second. He had been trained to notice things like that. Some kind of proximity alarm, he guessed.

His guess was proven right, as suddenly a gaping hole appeared in the wall in front of him. Harry expected a Minotaur type creature to step in, complete with two big horns, and maybe a trident. He was surprised when a pink skinned man in a pinstripe suit stepped into the room, all of a towering 3 feet, 4 inches. He had a headset on, babbling into a microphone, and looking at a clipboard in his hand.

"Yes, Xerculon, I said** _sell_**. Who the hell wants stocks that are going bloody **_down_**? Okay, a hobo might, but I'm no hobo. What's that supposed to mean, tough guy? Yeah, that's what I thought. **_Okay_**. I'm going to sleep with your wife. You heard me!"

The midget had a deeply nasal voice, which grinded on Harry. _I think I might've preferred the Minotaur. _

"Tell the boss that 21032 is open. Yeah, whatever. See you at poker tonight." With that, he turned scribbled something onto his clipboard, before putting it under his arm. Looking at Harry, he said in a very boring monotone.

"Welcome to the afterlife. You're dead. Here you decide weather you want to become a ghost or go off to metropolis. I'm Murray, and I'll be helping you get acclimatized. Name?"

Harry looked dumbly and the little pink guy, mouth hanging open slightly. A few moments later, Murray began tapping his foot on the floor impatiently. Before saying again, very slowly, as if speaking to a child;

"_Name?" _

"Wha?... oh… er… Harry Potter."

Murray repeated his name clearly into his headset. Harry heard two bursts of static in response. They both stood still, Harry looking very confused, and Murray looking quite bored. They stayed like this for a minute or two, before Murray spoke into his headset again.

"What's the hold up, HQ?"

A blur of incomprehensible words were heard. Murray frowned, and flipped the page of his clipboard, before flipping it back. He looked at Harry with his orange eyes, before looking back at the clipboard.

"You said your name's Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded at him, still a bit weirded out. Murray was silent, before another squawk emitted from his headset, and he muttered a brief acknowledgement into his headset. Before looking at Harry again.

"Follow me."

"Uh… Why?" Harry looked at the pink skinned guy in the suit, Murray, his mind supplied, as though he were… well a pink skinned guy in a suit. Murray lowered his orange gaze onto Harry.

"Because you, Mr. Potter, don't check out."

AN: Review, Review, Review!


	4. We All Fall Down

Hiya. It's been a little while since my last update, but hopefully this chapter can make it up to you. The longest to date. It took so long to write because I was absolutely merciless with it. If there was one thing I was unsure about, it had to be rewritten. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

**Cocoa Girl2**: All in due time. All in due time.

**Sword.of.Angel: **Appreciate it. And about the pairing… Harry/Tonks and Harry/Fleur are both going to show up… I'm just debating a few things, none of which have much consequence.

**Timothy4111: **Tis' the fall down.

And now, on with the show

Chapter 4- We All Fall Down

Harry followed behind Murray, fascinated by his surroundings. It seemed that the interior designer had liked purple when he designed this place, as the hallway he was walking down was just as purple as the room he had just vacated. Harry could hear voices, traces of conversation, but saw no evidence of people in the hallways. The floor was shiny and unworn, the walls absent of finger marks.

He could hear screams too. Not the kind of scream you make when somebody was cutting off your arm, or flaying you with a whip, mind you. The kind of scream you made when you think there's a spider in your pants. The kind of scream you make when you realize something totally gross is happening to you.

I guess death can make people scream like that. Harry looked at Murray. Death and pink accountants. No wonder they're screaming. Harry noted that his phoenix core wand was still in his hand, and his veela core hidden up his sleeve. It would come in useful later, he mused.

Murray stopped in front of a perfectly normal purple stretch of wall. There didn't seem anything there that warranted stopping, but Harry stopped anyways. Murray put a manicured finger on the wall, and tut-ed impatiently. After about thirty seconds of standing still, Murray began moving his finger along the wall. He traced out a square, and then a five pointed star inside the square, and finally five triangles within the star.

Then golden lines began tracing the lines Murray's finger had made, prompting Murray to put his middle finger directly into the centre of the star. From the point Murray touched, the wall began melting in a perfect centre. Purple pools of melted gunk began forming on the floor, and a hole began to burn into the wall. Harry just looked at this mystified, while Murray seemed quite bored.

Finally, the wall stopped melting once a hole about the size of Harry had appeared in it. Murray motioned for our hero to follow him through, before hopping through the hole. Harry followed. As soon as they had both went through the hole, the wall repaired itself. There was no evidence of them having melted away only seconds ago. There was no evidence of anything out of the ordinary happening there. Harry just shook his head, and decided to think about it later. If he'd spent all his time worrying about the strange things he was seeing, it would probably take the entirety of his afterlife.

Murray looked at Harry curiously through his square glasses, his orange eyes reminding Harry oddly of pineapples.

"You're a quiet one, aren't you? Most of them are blabbering by now."

Harry just looked at him for a minute, before offering an answer.

"I'ono."

Murray raised an eyebrow, before turning around, and looking out into the room they had just entered.

It was quite large, maybe 300 metres long, and 100 across. Various creatures in pinstriped suits, all who apparently shared the same job as Murray had, were milling about the room. Some were blue, some red, some green, and some orange. A few had horns, and resembled the minotaur Harry had expected to come and collect him. Some were no doubt female, and some of those were drop dead gorgeous. There were a few that Harry wasn't sure about the gender of, or if they even had a gender. But they all shared once common trait.

They were each accompanying a human being, of many different nationalities, in the general directions of two enormous gates, which dominated the room. One, located on the right, had a metal gate, which was straining a groaning. A group of muscled part shark part donkeys, all of whom were coloured a violent yellow, were scurrying around this gate, hammering sheets of metal onto the gate, and placing planks of wood across it, in an attempt to brace it. A fiery red glow emanated from the gate, and flashes of lightning could be seen behind it. The roar of thunder was absent, although those closest to it seemed to clap their hands to their ears with every flash of lightning. Perhaps a localized silencing charm. There were maybe sixty pairs of people and their after worldly guides lined up in front of this gate.

The other, directly across from it, was made of wood. A small circle of long eared green skinned… things, decked out in Armani suits, were standing by this gate. They were gathered around a podium with an enormous book on it, as well as what Harry had to guess was a map. Harry could faintly see beach balls being thrown beyond the gate. He was certain he saw some palm trees.

In the centre of the room, was a fountain. There was a pearl statue in the middle of it. The statue depicted a tall spire, surrounded by the magical races of the living world, all of whom were on their knees, bowing toward the spire. The outline of 3 faces could faintly be seen on each side of the statue, elongated and distorted so that it would fit onto one side.

A sea of desks separated all of this from Harry and Murray. Various guides in suits flitted from desk to desk, reading one thing, before running off towards the gates, or towards the wall that Harry and Murray had just burned their way through.

"Busy day," grunted Murray "long waiting line." He jerked his thumb back at the wall. It seemed to Harry that he was explaining why they had stood there for a minute, so he just nodded.

"Er… what is this place?"

Murray yawned, and began walking slowly towards the desks.

"This is the afterlife. You were just in the cool down. Most people fall asleep on the fall, so a few millennia ago we implemented the cool down. If you're asleep when you get down here, we shove you in there until you wake up. Then an astral guide, like me, comes and gets you."

Harry nodded absently, before saying the first thing that came to mind.

"Astral guide?"

"We show you how to survive in the afterlife. You can still die a painful, painful death here, only made worse by the fact that you'll be alive for the rest of eternity."

Harry was dumbfounded by this contradiction, so he applied all of his linguistic skills into making his most intellectual reply.

"Eh?"

Perhaps it wasn't as intellectual as Harry thought, but it got his point across. Murray rubbed his nose, and rolled his eyes before beginning to explain.

"Anything that could kill you in the other world can still kill you here. Except you won't die. You'll feel whatever pain it would have caused you for eternity. You'll be unable to move, lack control over your body, but you'll still feel the pain. Game over."

Murray waved his hand out into the room, before adding,

"Right now, you're between life, and the afterlife. This is the middle life. If something happens to you here, you're finished. So Astral guides are here to make sure you either go to the afterlife, or back to life, without anything happening to you."

Harry's eyes bugged out, and he grabbed hold of Murray's shoulder, spinning him around so that they were nose to nose.

"Back to life?"

Murray smiled apologetically.

"Ghost."

Harry dropped Murray and sighed. For a moment there, he had had some hope. Real, bursting white hot hope. It had burned through his core, igniting his nerve ends, gotten the adrenaline pumping. Suddenly, Harry became aware that Murray was talking again.

"Not everybody can become a ghost. You have to meet very strict criteria to go back. We don't let anybody who would try to change the world negatively back there, for example. The world was meant to be in a constant struggle, so if people who had exceeding knowledge of this struggle aren't allowed back. It would tip the scales in favour of whoever they helped. The struggle would fail."

Harry nodded.

"Anyways, the gate on your right," He motioned towards the iron gate, with its shark like donkey people, "is the gate you go through to go back," His hand moved to the left, "And that one goes to the afterlife."

Harry looked at the gate on the left, and a question came to mind.

"What's beyond the gate?"

Murray grinned a ridiculous grin.

"Metropolis." Harry looked at him questioningly, expecting him to expand. Instead, Murray put a finger to his lips, a motion of silence, and motioned for Harry to follow him into the sea of desks. Harry did, and for the next few minutes they weaved through the tables, and dodged the people working at them.

As they emerged from the desks, and began walking towards the fountain, Murray began talking again.

"Technically speaking, I shouldn't be telling you about Metropolis until we go through the gate, but I have a feeling we're going to anyways. Metropolis, is where all wizarding folks who die go if they don't want to be, or can't be, ghosts. It's just a sprawling settlement, which gets larger as it needs to be. You're English right?" He didn't wait for Harry to respond, "It's like the room of requirements in Hogwarts, except a million times more potent. And it's ruled."

Harry looked at him oddly, understanding but not understanding at the same time. Suddenly, Murray stopped walking. Harry noticed that they were at the fountain. Murray pointed towards the scene in the centre, of the magical races bowing to the spire with the three faces faintly etched into it.

"The council of three; anybody who enters Metropolis answers to them. The three most powerful beings in the history of the universe: Merlin, Morgana Le Fay, and Jeffery." Harry looked at Murray like he was insane, but Murray took no notice.

"Everybody bows to them. They are the final word. You do not go against what they say, unless you wish to suffer a fate worse than anything anybody could ever imagine." Murray looked at Harry and said in a low voice. "They say that… They say that they can kill you again." His voice lowered again. "Actually kill you. You fall, again. But, you fall lower."

Harry absorbed this news, and obviously didn't display the reaction Murray had expected. Really, Harry wasn't afraid of them. Merlin and Morgana Le Fay were heavy names, their accomplishments were well noted. Jeffery, if he carried any strength, Harry would have heard of him. A silence had settled around Harry and Murray, so Harry decided to break it.

"Alright, let us go line up then." Harry began walking towards the wooden gate, but found himself frozen to his spot, unable to move. Murray, who had his open palm facing Harry, looked at him as though he found something very funny.

"You're not going there yet, hot shot. You've got to meet with the boss." Murray pointed a finger out to the furthest wall, where Harry could barely make out a small door.

/\\\\\/

Nymphadora Tonks was sad. No, she was miserable. Her hair, normally a vibrant pink, was now a dull black. She was wearing formal black robes over her black blouse and skirt. Her cheeks were tear stained, and more tears were slipping down, following the path their predecessors had formed.

"…ry James Potter was a hero. When he was one he…" Tonks choked at the use of the past tense. She heard others crying around her. She saw a head of platinum blonde locks shuddering in the first row, and a mane of bushy brown hair bobbing in time with one of the many sobs in the room.

"When he was only twelve he unlocked the chamber of…" Tonks sobbed, and threw her face into her hands. Oh, Merlin… Tonks missed him. She hadn't seen him in years, and she still felt the yearning in her heart. She felt the want to run her hands through his hair. She felt the need to crush her lips against his, to feel his heat on her. Just once. She had just wanted to feel his lips against hers just _once_. _Once._

"Fourth Year…" Tonks heard Molly Weasley break into howls of sorrow. She looked sullenly at the casket behind the speaker. She wasn't sure who it was, probably one of Harry's acquaintances on his trips out of Britain. He did have an accent of sorts. Tonks briefly wondered why he was summarizing Harry's life, instead of somebody who had been there.

For a second, Tonks thought she heard the slightest of creaks. She looked around, searching for the person who had caused it, wanting to give them a dirty look. But everybody else seemed to be absorbed in their sorrows.

She heard another creak. She twisted her head around. Nobody had moved. She slowly reached a hand into her pocket, fingering her wand.

"In his years after Hogwarts…" Tonks looked at the casket of the boy who used to live. It was made of a breath-taking black marble. It was closed. Tonks didn't think she could have handled it if it was an open casket. With a finger sliding across the smooth surface of her wand, Tonks could practically see Harry's face looking up to her, pale from death.

As Tonks heard another creak, her Auror senses jumped. She absently noted several Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt among them, halfway out of their seats. Mad Eye, who had taken his magical eye out as a sign of respect towards 'that Potter lad', had one hand in his pocket, no doubt looking for said eye, and the other gripping his wand in plain view. Of course, nobody saw it. Too busy grieving over the still fresh loss of Harry James Potter.

A loud, prolonged creak sounded, reverberating around the room. Now everybody was looking about, the more intelligent ones slowly drawing their wands. A second long creak and the entire room were out of their seats, wands in hand.

Tonks was briefly aware of hearing a shriek, before the door was blown in. Splinters flew as a quartet of reducto curses flew into the room, all quickly reflected into the walls of the room by a well placed shielding charm. _Probably Moody's doing. _ Tonks whipped her wand towards the door, spinning it in a circle while doing so, causing a chair to go flying towards the door.

A blur of motion and shouts erupted from inside the room. Curses and hexes of a multitude of colours shot through the doorway, as well as a fireball, which conveniently set Tonks' flying chair on fire. It saved Tonks the trouble of doing it herself.

The sound of spells being deflected almost made the young auror groan, but her spirits quickly brightened as she heard a howl of pain accompanied by a:

"_Fuckin' bloody chair was on fuckin' fire!_ "

Tonks heard Moody grunt in approval, before sending a desk flying out into the hallway. Tonks sent an _'Incendio!' _after it, causing another shout of pain.

"Bloody Fuckin' Right!"

Shouted Tonks into the Hallway, accompanying it with another chair, although she heard it smashed to pieces. Probably by a redactor curseTonks saw Arthur Weasley and the small group of Wizard's from the funeral home ushering the children out the back door, and let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. The last thing she wanted was a kid getting hurt.

A trio of lime green killing curses burst through the door, and slammed into the wall right beside the back door, scorching it. Tonks flicked her wand at the door, closing it, before firing a pair of stunning spells into the hallway. A cry was heard, the sound of a body hitting the ground, and then a death eater mask rolled in through the door.

It should have been really obvious, but seeing the mask brought the attack to a whole new level. Silence reigned for a moment, before a yell was heard in the hall, and thirty or so death eaters poured into the room, wands ablaze.

The ragtag defense of the Potter Funeral ducked behind chairs, upturned tables, and flung potted plants at the Death Eater attack team, who fired curses in all directions blindly, blowing up plants and sending soil flying everywhere.

Tonks, who was hiding behind a table which had previously held several photos of Harry and his friends, now all on the floor, peaked over the top of the table, and laid flat a death eater with a cutting curse, a flock of canaries, and a well placed ficus.

Tonks heard a familiar cry of pain, and saw Kingsley fall to the ground, blood running from his head. She saw Moody burst from cover, only to take a crushing curse to the back. She saw his electric blue eye roll out of its eye socket, and trip up a death eater, who fell backwards, the killing curse that he had been aiming at Arthur Weasley's hiding place shooting far overhead, instead hitting the chandelier above the Weasley patron. The glass shattered, raining death upon those below it: namely, Mr. Weasley. He never saw it coming.

Tonks, the sole surviving member of the light side, felt like crying. Instead, she motioned her wand towards the shards of glass, some of which were still falling, and with a masterful wave of her wand, set them flying into the death eaters.

The shards of glistening death rained upon the death eaters, piercing skin, lodging in eyes, zipping through skulls. Tonks lowered her wand, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over her, before turning to the back door. She had to make sure the kids were okay.

As she took a step, she felt a blinding pain run up her left leg. Gasping, she looked down and saw that she had a very large shard of glass embedded in her leg. Blood trickled down past her ankle, some of it soaking her socks, but most of it beginning to pool on the ground. With a grunt, Tonks began to limp towards the back door which Arthur had sent the children out of.

She leaned against it, pushing it open with her body's weight, and stepped out onto the dewy grass. A fog had rolled in, and everywhere Tonks looked shadows loomed over her, pushing her back, feeding upon her battle high. The exhausted auror leaned against the hard brick wall of the funeral home, and gasped as the pain from her leg redoubled. A single tear rolled down her dirt stained cheek, as she quietly whispered to herself.

"_Ring around the Rosie, a Pocket full of Posies," _A second tear fell down from her other eye as she remembered the thre… four champions of the light dead inside the room she had just left. _"Ashes to Ashes, We all… Fall… Down…" _Her voice cracked miserably, and she let out a tiny sob.

And that's when she heard the high pitched scream from the fog.

/\\\\\/

Harry looked around the office that Murray had led him into. It was sparsely furnished, with a completely practical wooden desk beside the door, and another one set up against the back wall. Seated in the desk beside the door was a very pretty blonde female. Her hair fell in straight curtains, ending around her shoulders, and a pair of horn rimmed glasses framed her blue eyes. She gave Murray a small smile, before turning a full fledged one onto Harry, along with a saucy wink.

"Mr. Johansen's been expecting you. Do hurry, I'd hate too see him go firecracker." She gave Murray a knowing grimace, which he returned, before smiling suggestively at Harry. "If you live, maybe we can go grab dinner sometime."

Murray rolled his eyes, as Harry eagerly took her address in Metropolis, muttering '_doesn't even know if he's bloody going to Met_', before turning around, about the take a step towards the desk on the far side of the room and freezing mid step. Harry looked over his shoulder to see why Murray hadn't stomped off.

He didn't see anything. He glanced at Murray, and followed his gaze to the ground. Standing there was a little human. Not little, as in a midget. Most midgets weren't six inches tall. This little human, reminded Harry remarkably of a action figure. His face was a slight shade of pink, and his eyes narrowed. He was bald, so Harry could tell (by squinting) that his pink hue extended beyond his face.

"Where the _fuck _'ave you been, runt?" He pointed a miniature finger at Murray, and Harry almost laughed. Murray was small, sure, only three feet tall, but this guy was… well… a bug. But Murray just looked at him as though he had been punched in the face and made a few incomprehensible noises, before offering a response.

"Uh…" Suddenly, Harry started to hear several quiet explosions, and as he looked down at… Mr. Johansen, he assumed, he noticed small flashes of fire and light ignited from his ears. Explosions were issuing forth from his cranium. This time when he spoke, his face had turned a hellish blood red, and his voice echoed around the room loudly.

"_FUCKIN' ANSWER ME, OR I'LL 'AVE YOU FUCKIN' FIRED!" _As he roared, the little man seemed to be getting taller. As he finished pronouncing the word 'fired' he, was approximately a foot taller than Murray, about chest height for Harry. His skin had gotten even more deeply red, if that was possible, and now put the Weasley clan's hair to shame. Murray continued stammering for a second, before he waved franticly at Harry, and promptly fainted.

Mr. Johansen laughed, his skin returning to a natural peach, and he began to grow shorter. Harry looked at the secretary. She was looking at him, awed. Why? Harry couldn't guess. A few seconds later, a six inch Johansen looked up at Harry, and barked.

"Never met one who didn't get scared by that un'. Who're ye'?"

Harry tilted his head. "Harry Potter."

Johansen connected his gaze with Harry, and muttered a soft _ah_, before rasing his hands towards Harry. He seemed lost in thought for a minute, perhaps contemplating what to say. Before seeming to make up his mind, and speaking.

"The bloody 'ell are you doin' 'ere?"

Harry looked at him dumbfounded.

"I… died… I guess…?" Harry said, just as confused as Johansen seemed to be. Johansen looked at Harry, then at Murray. His little legs churning, he ran over to Murray, and promptly kicked him in the eye. Murray let out a string of expletives as he shot up, his hand firing up to his eye.

"Oy, Murray. Explain this to me!" Johansen pointed at Harry, "He ain't supposed to be here for a good long time." Murray removed his hand from his eye, which was quite red (and frankly, Harry could have sworn he saw it watering), before speaking.

"Don't bloody know. Doesn't show up in the registry for, as you said, a good long time. But here he is. I thought you could sort it out."

Johansen looked at Murray like he was crazy.

"An' how the _fuck _am I supposed to sor' it out? We've got a dead guy, who's not supposed to be dead. If he was homeless, maybe we could let it go. But he's the fuckin' _'ero_, ain' he? So tell me, Murray. How the _fuck _can I sort this out?" Johansen's face was beginning to go a shade of cherry red. Murray's, on the other hand, was going a ghostly white.

"I don't know. But you can do more than I can, can't you? Know more people than me, don't you? Got connections, haven't you? I ain't got bloody nothin'." Now a faint red tinge was powdering Murray's cheeks. Johansen had gone back to a healthy peach.

"Right you are, Murray, Right you are. Wait 'ere." And then he was gone, presumably to his desk, as Harry heard his voice from the back of the room, although he couldn't make out what he was saying. Murray looked shocked. Harry supposed Mister Johansen had never said somebody else was right before. But none of that interested Harry. What did interest him, was the secretary. So he turned back to her, and began to suggest a long line of things they could do after dinner. She just giggled, and threw her hair back over he shoulder, giving him a mischievous grin as she told him that maybe they could do all of that, if he was… up to it.

They remained like this for a few minutes, before Johansen showed up again, somehow appearing on the secretary's desk. He looked at Harry.

"You have to understand how much of a big deal this is. It's never happened before. Dunno _how _it happened this time. You're an anomaly. A bug in the system. You were supposed to live a long life, very long. And die of natural causes. But you're here, not even thirty, dead by Voldemort. In fact, you were supposed to kill him in that fight. Not because of destiny or anything like that, but to bring the struggle to a balance."

Harry nodded. Murray nodded as well. The secretary adjusted her bra. Harry watched her do so. Johansen continued.

"This kind of thing goes way over my head. I'm like, the manager of a Mcdonalds. You're coming to me, with a business proposal to merge Mcdonalds with Burger King. I just can't do anything about it. I'm low level executive. You need to go to the top."

Murray looked at Johansen, and let out a small gasp. The secretary crossed her legs, enjoying herself as Harry watched her skirt pull up, revealing a bit more of her tanned legs. Harry divided his attention between Johansen and the legs.

"So I pulled a few strings, and I got you a meeting with the Council of Three."

Murray's jaw dropped. The secretary froze in the middle of licking her lips, before looking shocked at Johansen. Harry, who had been pondering giving the secretary a bit more of his attention, threw the idea out the window, deciding that fifty fifty would do.

"They're busy people though. So it's arranged for two days from now. 3:34 P.M. Don't be late. In the mean time, you're to go to Metropolis. Have some fun in the afterlife until your meeting. Know anybody that died?" He didn't wait for the nod. "Go look in on them."

Harry was bursting with excitement at this. A chance to see Sirius again. To see his parents for the first time. A chance to look into those wise twinkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore. A chance to see Remus… _Gods… Remus… _The werewolf had died to protect Harry: to save his cub. It had been the real turning point for Harry. Most people said that when Dumbledore died was when Harry started to really strike back. But no, it was when Remus Lupin had dived in front of an Avada Kedavra to save his life.

"Unfortunately, there's a chance that you'll be going back to life. So there are a small number of things you cannot see. To ensure that you don't, Murray will be staying with you."

_ Back to life. Get laid. Kill Voldemort. Get laid. Continue getting laid til' death do us part. The perfect way for a hero to live out his years._ This was the gist of what was running through Harry's mind.

The thoughts running through Murray's mind on the other hand, were quite different.

**_Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuckity Fuck Fuck, Fucker!_**

But Murray didn't voice his… opinions. After all, it was the will of the council. Nobody went against the council. He just motioned for Harry to follow him as he exited the room. Johansen went back to his desk, and the secretary tried to stop thinking of just what she wanted to do to Harry.

As Johansen sat down on his oversized chair, he steepled his fingers, and looked up at the roof.

"One who should be living going to Met… this is a day to remember."

/\\\\\/

Tonks limped out into the fog, blood smearing the grass behind her. Her wand was held tightly in her hand as she walked; tense, like a tiger ready to strike. She was headed in the direction of the scream. How did she know? More people were screaming now. All sounded very young. Which meant something was happening to the children. And with death eaters around, she could only imagine what.

The screams were getting louder. Yelps of 'Help' and 'Oh gods' as well as the occasional 'Oh gods help'. Normally, Tonks would be running. But with her foot as it was, she didn't have much of a choice. Finally, she reached an area where the fog thinned. What Tonks saw chilled her to the bones.

It was a massacre.

Blood smeared the moors, and children's bodies slumped against tombstones, their life fluids gushing out onto the rocks, staining them. Tonks counted seven bodies, and it made her sick to her stomach. But she could still hear the screams, many voices, further ahead. So Tonks just said a silent word to the children here, and continued on to those that she hoped she could still help.

Then Tonks noticed a pile of blue robes which was shaking. She limped over to them, and prodded it gently. She heard a sob. The blue robes turned to face her, and Tonks saw electric blue eyes and platinum blonde hair. Her right hand was clutching her right shoulder. It appeared as though she had been hitting by a Shattering curse, and that she had a shattered arm.

She was definitely not a child though. No, she seemed about Tonks' age. Her lips moved, and she let out a tiny whisper.

"_V…Voldemort… 'Ermione… went 'oo….children… save… I ca… can't…" _She removed her hand from her shoulder, revealing to Tonks the broken remains of her wand. Tonks quickly cast a spell on her to preserve her in her current state. She wouldn't die.

"I'll go help Hermione… save the children… And you aren't going to die."

The blonde whispered again.

"…_Vhy…? I want… to be… avec… mon 'Arry…"_

Then her eyes closed as she passed out. Tonks looked at her. This… this tramp had had relationships with Harry? _No, Tonks! Don't let your jealousy get you now. Hermione needs you. The kids need you. _But the overwhelming urge to curse that pretty blonde's face caused the Auror to stay right where she was.

_Harry would want you to go help them._

And Tonks was off at as fast as her leg wound would let her. Soon, she saw flashes of multicolored lights in the fog. Tell tale signs of a duel. She limped forward, and the fog seemed to clear in front of her, just as her mind did. She forgot the blonde skank, she forgot her pain over Harry's death. She was filled with a clarity she had never had before. She raised her wand and the fog in front of her parted completely. She saw a dirtied Hermione Granger whirling and spinning, desperately avoiding curses from the most feared wizard on the planet, looking like he was very much enjoying toying with her. Three little wizarding children stood frozen against the fence of the grave yard, mere metres from the cemetery gates. Fear was the only emotion in their eyes.

Tonks took aim at Voldemort's unmoving back, due to Hermione's lack of ability to throw any spells at him. She was too busy staying alive. In a whisper she spoke.

"_Kumara Trifoli **Sipholium**!"_ Three bursts of pink light fired from her wand tip, all three of them connecting with Voldemort's back, sending him lurching forward, screaming in pain. They spell she had used was an interesting one that Harry had made up during one of their training sessions. Basically, it was three supercharged blasting curses, with an added side effect. It gave the victim a muggle disease called laryngitis. Funny, the things Harry Potter came up with.

"Run, Hermione. Take the kids. I'll tango with snake face." Hermione did just that. Drained of magic as she was, she knew she'd only be a hindrance to Tonks. "And there's a blonde back there…Still alive. Try and save her."

Hermione nodded. She ushered the kids out of the cemetery, making a port key out of a bracelet she had, giving it to them, which sent them wheeling towards the port key's destination, wherever that was, before running into the fog behind Tonks, to find the blonde, Fleur, although Tonks didn't know that.

What Tonks did know, was that Voldemort was standing up, and he looked pissed. She dropped into a dueling stance, holding her wand at the ready. Voldemort did no such thing. Instead her looked at her, and smirked, before rasping out.

"That was one of Potter's wasn't it? They did him no good, and they'll do you no better." Tonks felt a surge of anger, and responded by firing off a blasting charm non-verbally. Voldemort laughed a flicked his wand, ricocheting it into a tombstone. He fired off his own blasting curse in return. Tonks attempted to but up a shield charm, but the curse broke right through, forcing her to dive to her left.

Tonks knew that there was no way for her to win this duel. She was royally fucked. But she had to do it. She waved her wand in front of her in a complicated, albeit short, pattern. The air that her wand had traced through glowed navy blue, and pulsed forward, before a roar, very similar to that of a lion erupted from the night sky.

Voldemort didn't even flinch as a water elemental Lion erupted from the rune Tonks had traced. It looked like a lion, aside from the fact that it was made entirely of water. In fact, he rolled his eyes. He drew and even more complicated rune in the air in an even shorter time than Tonks, and the soft hiss of a snake was heard. Tonks didn't even have time to see what color the runes glowed.

Tonks jumped back as a seven foot snake slithered out of the rune. It was darkness elemental, so its shape was made entirely of a black void: a spot where no light dared venture, a spot that just so happened to take the shape of a snake. The snake and the lion began to circle each other, just as Tonks and Voldemort did. Tonks was tense, maintaining her dueling stance as she circled. Voldemort held his hands by his sides, swinging as he walked. He wasn't worried in the slightest.

And why should he have been? Tonks couldn't hold a candle stick to Voldemort in terms of raw power, or experience…or knowledge, or physical strength for that matter. He had wrestled with Hagrid. And won. Against a half giant. Tonks knew she was dead before Voldemort had even turned towards her.

"You know you can't win." Rasped out Voldemort, quieter than before. Apparently the laryngitis was getting to him. But it was true. She knew she couldn't. But what the hell. She could try. So, instead of saying anything back, Tonks rushed forward, casting an incendio as she went.

The battle between Voldemort and Tonks was quick, and if you had blinked, you might have missed it. Voldemort had cast a quick _'Aguamenti' _and dispersed the incendio, before rushing Tonks head on, brushing past her stunner as she thought nobody could. He quickly got his hands around her neck, and slammed her into the ground, causing her to gasp out as the air from her legs was forced out, and no new air let in as his hands remained firmly around her neck. She closed her eyes from the pain.

Tonks that he would kill her, right then and there. Instead, he allowed her to breath. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw why Voldemort had loosened his hold.

He wanted her to watch his snake kill her lion. Just like he had killed her Harry. It was cruel, brutal, and warfare on the psychological level.

The lion stalked around the snake, which had coiled himself up into a mountain, and allowed himself to be circled. His head turned the full 360 degrees, keeping its eyes trained on the lion. Then, quick as a flash, the lion burst forth, and the snake unwound. The snake's tail whipped out, lashing towards the lion, but it just raised a paw, and batted it down to the ground and running along the length of the tail. Then the lion lunged towards the snake, presumably for a quick kill.

The snake lay straight down on the ground, and lashed its fangs out as the lion passed over head. The two inch teeth sank into the lion's leg, causing it to crash to the ground, instead of landing gracefully. The lion let out a roar of pain, scything at the snake's body with its claws.

The snake slithered out of the way each time, flowing like water, dodging every attack, often times making the lion strike it self. But never letting go of the strangle hold on the lions foot. The lion let out another roar, quieter this time, and continued its attack. Then another roar, still quieter, and the attack grew less impassioned. This went on, until the lion was barely moving, and let out only a weak moan.

This was when the snake unlatched, and slithered up to the lion's neck, and reared up over its jugular vein.

Then the lion lashed out with its claws once more, severing the snake's head from its body. Both disappeared, turning into a black smoke, then nothing. Voldemort looked disgusting, before waving at the lion, a bolt of thunder lashing out from the wand, turning it into a puff of blue smoke, and then, just as the snake, nothing.

"It means nothing." Voldemort closed his fingers around Tonks' throat.

The last thought Tonks had in that living life, was the wish that she could see Harry's sparkling green eyes one… last… _time…_

/\\\\\/

Review, Review, Review!


	5. Nymphadora Delilah Tonks

** Gohan'slittlebro47**- Well, I definately took my time on this one.

**X.S.**- I wonder.

**thesteffis - **That means I'm doing my job

**Rose - **I might use Harry's old world once or twice more, but it's coming to a close. My ideas for Harry and Tonks and varied and wild, and I can barely make sense of them, much less put them in words. Actually, that dream contains foreshadowing for alot of things, some already finished, and some yet to pass. And I thought I'd alluded to much more than just Tonks. That said, I'll try to keep it original. I'm not a fan of cliches anyways. The meat of the plot... is yet to come. I plan on this being a longggg and arduous story, and I'm hoping y'al stick with me.

With my review replies finished, the story begins!

* * *

Hermione dropped to her knees besides the innate body of Fleur Delacour, and checked to see if she was breathing. When she felt the French witch's hot breath on her hand, she sighed in relief. Somebody was alive. Hermione put one hand on Fleur's shoulder, the other holding her wand, and shook her quietly until she woke up. 

"Fluer… _Fluer!_" she hissed, not wanting to raise her voice. It would do no good to have … him… show up. Hermione was good friends with Tonks, but she knew she couldn't last long against Voldemort. It pained her to know that she had left the brilliant witch to her death, but Tonks had told her to get Fleur. They both knew that if there was anyway for the wizarding world of Great Britain to survive that they would need all the competent witches and wizards they could find. And Fleur was quite the witch.

Fleur groaned, and turned on her side, her blue eyes slowly opening. Dirt stained her normally impeccable hair.

"'Ermione…?"

Hermione nodded frantically and looked around, wary of the silence.

"Yes, Fluer, come on. We have to run. Come on." She gently grabbed one of Fleur's hands and helped her to her feet. Fleur gasped in pain as she rose. "Can you run, Fluer?"

"…Oui… 'Opefully…"

Still holding the blonde girl's hand, as she was obviously far weaker than she was letting on, Hermione led Fleur back to the funeral home. They entered through the same door Tonks had left through, and then stopped dead in their tracks.

"My god."

"Mon Dieu."

Carnage. It was the only word to describe it. Thirty or so bodies littered the room. Most of them had holes running straight through their faces. Five or six were missing an eye. Or two. Arthur Weasley lay on the floor, pierced through the stomach by a large chunk of glass. Smaller shards lay scattered around him. Blood was pumping from his stomach, and his hands were clamped on the sharp edges of the large piece.

Kingsley was on the floor, a streak of blood going across his dark skinned face. He had a hole blasted straight through his back. Moody lay beside him one arm stretched forward, resting on Kingsley's back. There was no physical damage, only his single dull lifeless eye. His electric blue one lay several feet away from him, half of it stained with blood.

The casket of Harry James Potter had fallen to the floor, the lid sliding off as it had fallen and shattered when it had hit the floor. The body of the wizarding world's savior now laid bare.

Tears fell down her face, and Hermione slumped against the door, slowly sliding down it, until she was seated on the floor, crying her heart out. She never saw Fleur doing the same only seconds later. She didn't notice as a team of crack aurors appeared, 8 minutes and 37 seconds too late.

What she did notice was them bringing the body of Auror Nymphadora Delilah Tonks, dead by strangulation.

The tears came down quicker.

* * *

Harry Potter hated queuing. It was the single stupidest thing on the face of the universe, and he loathed to experience it during his afterlife. But here he was, queuing, along side his after worldly guide, now forced companion, Murray. Said companion, was cursing up a storm. 

"…no _fuckin'_ time for this shit!... have a family… _fuckin' my wife…_ need some good lovin'… _Arghhhhhhh" _Harry sort of just tuned him out. The first twenty minutes it had amused him. Now it was just bloody annoying.

Murray's bad mood was affecting all of the people in the line. Finally, somebody at the front of the line shouted back at them:

"Shut the hell up, man! We're dead! We've got bigger problems than you!" Harry muttered an 'amen' under his breath, before chuckling as Murray turned around venomously, fires burning in his eyes. Harry paused to duck as two jets of fire erupted from Murray's eyes scorching the ground in front of the complainer.

Said being raised his hands in surrender, fear being the prominent emotion in his mind. His tense back was a tell tale sign. So was the sweat coming off his brow, which could also be attributed to the flame that had just hit the floor in front of him. But the biggest giveaway was his eyes. It was often said that eyes were a portal to ones soul. And Harry believed this to be true. Eyes were the ultimate facet of a human's persona.

Harry was a master at reading them. Just by looking into somebody's eyes, he could tell them intimate details of their life. He could tell them if they were in love. If they were consumed with hatred. If they owned a cat. This uncanny ability to read peoples eyes was a major weakness. Just by looking into somebody's eyes, he could tell if he could fall in love with them. He only had seen 4 pairs of eyes like that. On 3 of these occasions, he had fallen in love with the bearers. On the fourth, and most recent he had not fallen _in _love, but had come to love the person nonetheless.

These four people, had been (in this order) Hermione, Tonks, Fleur and then Madame Rosmerta. Rosmerta he had come to love as a mother, but the other three. No, with them, it was more than sisterly love. Much, much more. And yet, the only one he had ever shared anything other than a few drink induced stumbles, was Fleur.

He'd caught Tonk's heavy gaze on him during dinners at Grimmauld Place. He'd seen the want in Hermione's eyes as she fell into his arms, drunk as hell. But never more than that. He'd been too afraid of losing his best friend, and with Tonks, afraid of losing a teacher.

But with Fleur, there was nothing standing in their way, so they fucked like monkeys. But it was more than just physical, there was an emotional bond, forged through shared experiences. The way her eyes lit up when they were caught in the throes of their passion seemed to intoxicated him.

"Name and cause of death, please."

Harry's musings were interrupted as he and Murray reached the front of the line. He supplied both, before him and Murray were ushered forward towards the titanic gates. Murray walked up to them, and wrapped on it with his knuckles.

A loud gong sounded from the inside, and the gates began to open.

* * *

Tonks groaned, arching her back as she did. She hurt like a bitch. Especially her throat. Dry coughing, Tonks sat up, and opened her eyes to take in her surroundings. She was in a purple room, sitting on a purple desk. It vaguely reminded her of a television show her father had made her watch when she was young, something to do with a purple dragon. 

Still groaning slightly, Tonks stood up. As she did this, the wall in front of her split open to reveal a large muscled minotaur-esque creature, who promptly asked for her name. Tonks supplied it, and with little fanfare the creature motioned for Tonks to follow.

As they walked through the purple hallways, Tonks bombarded the minotaur thing with question, all of which he answered with either a grunt, or a glare. Finally they reached and inconspicuous length of wall, which the minotaur kicked, causing it to melt open.

Tonks followed behind minotaur man meekly, awed by the sheer size of the purple room she had just entered. And sea of office desks sat between her and the other wall. There were two large gates, one to the left, one to the right, both with long queues leading to them. One looked rather inviting, the smell of flowers wafting towards her, the looked well, uninviting, reminding her vaguely of a bad dream. Her gaze wandered back to the first gate, specifically to the queue, gazing up and down it. She froze when her gaze reached the head of the line.

_Harry. _Tonks was off like a bullet, dodging desks, photo copiers and interns as she made her way across the work floor. Minotaur man was hot on her tracks shouting for her to stop, cease and desist along with a multitude of overused police bluster.

She ran straight past the fountain that dominated the middle of the floor, losing the minotaur guy when he ran into a table.

"_Harry!_"

* * *

Harry heard Tonks' yell, and wheeled around. His mouth opened to respond, before he was tackled by a pink haired blur, and pushed through the open gate, a sobbing Tonks wrapped in his strong embrace.

* * *

"FUCK!" 

Murray roared this as he lunged after them, grabbing onto Harry's foot before it entered the door. The trio fell through the, sucked in as if it were a vacuum, before it snapped shut behind them.

* * *

When Harry came to, Tonks was still wrapped in his arms, and Murray was standing over him, face red, fire leaping from his eyes. 

'WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?!?!"

Murray accompanied his anger with a swift kick to Harry's side, which roused Tonks, who unconsciously snuggled closer to Harry's chest.

Harry loosened his grasp on Tonks, and pushed himself to his feet, lowering his gaze onto Murray.

"That was an accident, Murray. Drop it."

This seemed to do nothing but anger Murray further. To punctuate his next statement, his face turned a deeper shade of red, and wreath of fire began to flicker around his small form.

"Your fucking _accident_ could have got me fucking fired, and it's _fucking definitely _getting John _fucking fired!_"

Harry reached into his pocket and removed one of his wands, training it on Murray.

"Finished?"

Murray roared. And the flames withering around him did as well.

"**_Finished!?! You're fucking finished!"_**

A tongue of flames shot out of Murray's outstretched palm, launching towards Harry. Harry sidestepped it, and began to carve complicated patterns in the air, while continuing to strafe around Murray, whose aura of flame was extending a good metre outward.

Finally, Harry's circle was complete and he stood were he started, in front of a still dazed Tonks.

"**_Rosa!"_**

In a blink of an eye, the trails Harry's wand had traced were filled with roses, all surrounding Murray, the flower head facing towards him, and their stems facing out. Harry called out for Murray to give it up, to which he responded with naught but a grin.

The flames encircling him extended further, a tendril touching a single rose, setting it alight. This caused a chain reaction, one rose setting the ones around it burning. As Murray had suspected, as a rose disappeared, another would take its place.

The rosa spell was mainly used defensively, as a wall to block outgoing spells. The theory was most wizards were too stupid to use low level spells to dispel the flowers and would expel a large amount of energy on high level spells only to have the flowers reappear. The main downfall of the spell was that with every flower than rematerialized, the caster would be zapped of some of their energy.

In setting the flowers alight with minimal effort, Murray was draining Harry of his strength, while keeping his own near full. This made his smile just a smidgen longer.

Harry watched unconcerned as Murray set the first rose alight, but as the flames began to spread, he felt large amounts of his magic being drawn to regenerate the roses. But the flames were moving from rose to rose exponentially, and his energy being drawn out of him along with it. Soon he was gasping for breath, then on his knees, fighting to keep black out of his vision.

Then Murray stepped out of the flaming inferno that was Harry's usually successful rose shield.

"Mister Potter, if your going to play with the big boys, you're going to have to step your game up."

Murray raised his hand, a demonic glint flickering through his eyes.

Then a shaggy dog launched itself at him, its razor sharp teeth imbedding in Murray's outstretched arm. The otherworldly guide screamed in agony, using his other arm to try and beat off the dog, which was holding on stubbornly crashing its jaws together.

Then a charging stag came from behind, slamming into Murray's back with his enormous antlers. Bellowing, the stag used its momentum to send Murray flying forward, crashing into a nearby wall. The dog had detangled itself from Murray moments before the stag struck, and was now nudging the stag as though he found the entire situation very funny.

The stag was looking at Harry with a strange sort of detachment. Then Murray groaned, and the stag wandered over to it, nudged it with its snout. Murray's eyes blinked open and the stag looked into them as though verifying something, before grunting in satisfaction.

As the dog was merrily tramping around Harry and Tonks, Harry began to notice their surroundings. They were sprawled in front of a large portal that seemed to have a whirlpool of water surrounding it. They were in a square of some sort, cozy little houses of various colours all around them. From each corner of the square long roads with equally cozy houses along their sides spread out of sight.

Suddenly the dog stopped tramping in circles, and turned towards Harry. There was something very familiar about…

"_Sirius?_" Harry choked, tears coming to his eyes. This snapped Tonks out of her reverie also, and brought her gaze to the dog in front of her.

The dog, frozen in mid stride, and slowly began its shift from canine to human. When the transformation completed, a well looking Sirius Orion Black stood in front of Harry Potter, the boy who died, and his cousin, Nymphadora Delilah Tonks.

"Nymphy? _Harry?_"

Sirius rushed forward, wrapping his godson and cousin in his arms.

"Oh gods, Sirius, I missed you." Sobbed Tonks into his shoulder.

"I know, Nymph, I know." Harry was oddly silent this entire time, his gaze not on Sirius, but going over his shoulder, towards the stag that was pawing the ground nervously beside a dazed Murray.

"Sirius…"

Sirius looked at Harry, then over his shoulder to see what he was looking at.

"Oh…"Sirius whispered sheepishly, before calling out, "James!"

Harry was on his feet and running before Sirius had finished his shout.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl for James Potter as the son that he never saw grow up ran towards him, tears crawling down his face. The familiar shift between his animagus form and his true shape began, warming his entire body as his proportions shifted. He staggered slightly at his new centre of balance, before he to was out like a gunshot fully ready to embrace his only child.

As the two Potter men embraced, passersby cheerfully watched what they believe was two twin brothers separated at birth finding each other in death, the most sentimental of them not being able to wipe a tear from their eye. People said miracles never happened.

This was most definitely a miracle for Harry Potter, and one that he had wanted since he was old enough to understand that the Dursley family was not his true home. And it was also a miracle for the father who had lost his son before watching his first steps.

"Dad…"

"Harry…" They both sobbed into each other's shoulders, gripping each other as though their lives depended on it. When they separated, they were met by the vision of an amused Sirius, and a teary eyed Tonks.

"If you thought that was bad, Harry, wait 'til Lily sees you." They all laughed. They couldn't help it. And as the reunited group began towards the Potter residence, Murray following behind them with a pounding headache, Harry couldn't help but grin as he felt his father's heavy arm around his shoulder, Sirius' laugh echoing through his ears, and Tonks' small hand in his own. It was unfortunate that there was only another 48 hours until Harry's meeting with the Council of Three.

* * *

_**46 hours left…**_

Hermione and Fleur sat across from each other, a coffee table separating the two. They both had tear stains on their cheeks, and were both regarding each other over their cups of coffee. Hermione's was black, and Fleur's a double double. This led to several assumptions about each other, such as Hermione being practical, or Fleur preferring things sweet, and by extension, being a romantic. All of their assumptions were correct, of course, but it's still not polite to base your thoughts on somebody by how the drink coffee.

But that didn't stop them. They were both surprised that they both drank coffee in the same way, taking slow sips and savouring the heat. This spoke of how they both enjoyed their relationships. Slow and savory. They didn't particularly like this, so they tried shoving it to the back of their minds. But they couldn't deny that they needed to talk when they both finished their drinks at the exact moment.

The final straw is when they both began talking at the same time.

"Listen, I …" they both threw their hands up in frustration as they noticed the other was speaking the same words. Fleur shook her head, before looking at Hermione.

"Talk, oui?"

Hermione nodded before looking at her hands, collecting her thoughts.

"This doesn't really matter anymore but… I love Harry Potter. Always have. I just always thought… Why would Harry Potter… the boy who lived… be interested in me, y'know?"

Fleur looked at Hermione sadly.

"I also loved eem. Meester Potter was… special, oui?"

They both turned their heads and looked out the window, where a light snow had began to develop. Hermione picked up a small book from her purse, and began to peruse through it, although her gaze flickered over to Fleur every few minutes. Fleur's gaze occasionally dropped to Hermione every once and a while to appraise her in a new light. She was a very beautiful woman, far gone from the fourteen year old Fleur remembered from the Tri Wizard cup. Although she did not possess Veela beauty, Fleur had yet to meet a woman who could make reading a book seem half as… well... sexy.

Hermione was on the other hand, distressed by Fleur's beauty. She knew she had grown more attractive than when she was in school, but she did not fancy herself anything special. Fleur had that flowing blonde hair, and a rack to die for, not to mention that blasted Veela charm that was drawing half the men in the restaurant's gazes to their table. It never occurred to Hermione that perhaps they were looking at her as well.

"Did you and him ever…?" Hermione couldn't finish it. Thankfully, she didn't need to.

"Oui. Many a times. Ee was… wonderful." Hermione was thankful that Fleur had the grace to blush as she said this. But still, a great depression settled on her breast.

"I'm sure he was."

They both looked out the window again, before Fleur cautiously spoke.

"London truly is… 'ow did ee say… fucking 'orrible during ze 'inter, non?" The French woman accompanied this with a small smile, hoping Hermione would take it as it was. Her condolences.

Hermione smiled softly at Fleur, accepting her sympathy.

"You must miss him."

"Oui, I do. But, 'ou must az well,"

Hermione looked out the window again.

"I just can't believe he's gone."

Fleur agreed.

* * *

_**43 Hours Left…**_

"Harry, dear, could you bring me the kettle?"

Harry smiled at his mother, nodding his head, feeling true elation for the first time in… ever. He was happy. Completely…happy. He stood from the lace covered table, obviously his mothers influence, and walked up to the cabinets. His parents had taken residence in a fairly large Victorian style home. They'd said it reminded them of Godric's Hollow, and remembering the ruins of the house, he could see the influence.

Bringing his mother the kettle, she gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek, before shooing him back to the table, where James, Tonks, and Sirius were seated. Murray was in the living room, lying down on the couch.

"… so like I was saying, Murray was in what they call a demon form. Guides are actually distant cousins of the demons who haunt the muggle underworld, so sometimes their heritage gets the best of him. Look out for him when his eyes go red. I hear a few of them can control themselves, and transform whenever they want though." Sirius was explaining to Tonks, who had asked about why Murray had gone berserk.

Tonks nodded in understanding, before allowing the conversation to continue on down its path. They talked of Harry's life, ranging from his Quidditch playing to his chasseur training. They talked of how things might've been had Lily and James lived. Lily's cooking skills, Tonks' lack thereof.

During a lull in the conversation, Harry rested his chin on his crossed fingers, smiling as James and Sirius descended into an animated conversation about their escapades as the Marauders. As the two were reminiscing ("One time, me and Sirius turned Snape's robes all pink, Remus was furious, but he couldn't stop laughing when he saw 'im") something occurred to Harry.

"Where _is _Remus?" The entire table looked at Harry, Tonks embarrassed she hadn't thought to ask that, but everybody else confused.

"What do you mean, Harry?" Lily looked at him, confusion written across her face as she asked.

"Lupin died. Where is he? I thought he'd be here, with you guys."

James and Sirius both looked at him, their brows furrowed. "We haven't seen Lupin since we died, Harry."

Harry looked at them, knowing they were telling the truth. A thoughtful look on his face, he pushed his chair back, and stepped away from the table. Tonks was a step behind him. Striding with determination, Harry crossed the threshold of the living room, and headed towards the sofa where a certain astral guide was laying, staring at the ceiling.

"Murray."

* * *

All done! Review, Review, Review!

* * *


	6. Another Happy Landing

Hello, folks! Sorry 'bout how long it took me to get this up. I've been trying for a week, but wouldn't let me. Expect monthly updates to the story. I'll try and make them a bit longer than this, but I've recently come across a little beauty called the Nintendo Wii. Time is even more difficult to find than before!

**Myrr**: Well, you don't have to worry about it becoming a slash fic, I can tell you that. Harry/Hermione might happen at some point. I'm keeping my options open.

**Draghknar**: Why, thank you.

**Gohan'slittlebro47: **Couldn't apply any of your advice to this chapter, mate. Too much to do. Next time, I promise.

And now, to the story.

**Chapter 6: Another Happy Landing**

"Eh?" Grunted out Murray, dragging his eyes lazily towards Harry. He toyed with the idea of apologizing for attacking him, before deciding against it.

"Remus Lupin. Where is he?"

Murray raised an eyebrow in annoyance, looking at Harry.

"Who the hell is Remus Lupin?"

Harry reached into his back pocket, pulling out a weathered brown leather wallet. He opened it, poked aside a few dollar bills before pulling out a worn picture. It was of himself and Remus, taken shortly before Harry had left for France. Remus and Harry were wrestling in the yard in front of the Burrow, laughter etched on their moving faces. Hermione had taken the picture.

Showing it to Murray, Harry maintained a stony expression as Murray's countenance brightened in recognition. Harry felt his patience begin to fray as Murray just continued looking at the picture, not saying anything. Finally, Harry cracked.

"Well?"

Murray wrenched his gaze from the picture, and looked Harry in the eye.

"I know him."

Harry waited for Murray to expand and when he didn't, he began forward menacingly, Sirius and James both behind him, expressions of equal impatience on their faces. Then Murray began again.

"Died again. 2nd death. Pissed off some vampire. Got his jugular ripped apart. The vamp got worse. You never will, and you shouldn't ever want to see him again. Where he is makes Hades look like a theme park."

Harry closed his eyes briefly, before shaking his head and looking up again. Sirius had fallen back onto a pantry, holding onto it for support. James was being supported by Lily. Tonks just stood behind Harry.

"A…again?" James gasped. Murray nodded stonily, before looking back up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Harry turned around, his hands balled into fists. He walked towards the nearest wall, and slammed his fist into it. Once. Twice.

He punched the wall a third time before going limp against it, pressing his forehead against the flowered wallpaper.

Tonks stepped towards him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. A barely audible '_god damnit'_ was heard before Harry turned back around, full composed once more.

"Alright… Alright… I'm good. I'm good."

Tonks cast him a lingering look, before going back to the kitchen door. Harry sat on a sofa across from Murray, and paused to collect his thoughts.

"So what happens when somebody goes to wherev-" Harry began, before Murray interjected.

"We call it the Other Place. And nobody knows, except for those who've gone there, and when they go, they don't come back. Ain't no such thing as a ghost of a ghost."

Harry nodded, another moment of sadness washing over him for a moment before he smiled sadly.

"Then it could be a better place then here."

"Could be. Personally, I don't plan on finding out." Murray said, before lying back down on the couch, and gluing his eyes to the ceiling again. Harry kept his gaze on Murray, falling into his chair just a little. Sirius and James were standing, their mouths opening and closing, trying to say something, then thinking better of it.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Lily took her husband by the hand, and led him back into the kitchen. Sirius followed the two. Harry stood as his parents left through the door, and walked into the foyer. Tonks followed Harry.

Harry sat on the staircase and took a deep breath before looking dully at the doorway. Tonks sat beside him quietly, not wanting to disturb his reverie.

"I wonder if it hurts more. Knowing I'll never get the chance to see him again, short of leaving my parents. I mean, I've got along fine since he died, haven't I?"

Tonks looked at Harry, and brushed her fingers against his. She smiled when his eyes slid away from the ceiling and connected with hers.

"I'm here for you, Harry."

Harry leaned towards her, just a little, and Tonks leaned forward as well, and their lips brushed, just for a second, before they moved apart. Harry retreated, just a little, and smothered Tonks with his eyes.

"I know." And he then stood up, and walked into the kitchen.

Tonks meanwhile, lit up like a light bulb as she realized what had just come to pass between her and the boy of her dreams.

* * *

_**41 hours left…**_

A tattered boy stood on a street corner in London, a little cart beside him, weighed down with the evening edition. He was calling out, at the top of his voice, the night's headlines, only stopping to thank those leaving him tips.

"**Muggle Madness: Muggle Minister Murdered!, Harry Potter, A Martyr, A Hero, A Friend, and A Lover: Interviews with his friends, and girlfriends!** …Thank ya, guv'na. **Voldemort Strikes A-** y'have a nice night, madam! **–gain! Friends of our Hero dying one by one!** Oi, watch were you're going, eh?!"

A disheveled man wearing a green bowler hat had run into the paper boy, and was now uttering apologies, offering the youth his hand. The boy took it, and pulled himself to his feet.

"Fancy buyin' a paper? Big news today!" The hatted man stared at the boy incredulously, before shaking his head, as though clearing it, before reaching into his back pocket to retrieve some loose change.

He handed the boy 7 knuts, and grabbed a paper with his other hand, before hurrying off, acknowledging the boys thanks with a wave of his hand. He burst into the Leaky Cauldron, and let out a breath at the familiar scene of Tom the Barman throwing out drinks to fill his orders. The man took upon a stool by the bar, and rapped his knuckles on the table, nodding at Tom as he looked at him.

"Mr. Fudge! Ain't seen you round since you got sacked! 'Ow you been?"

Cornelius Fudge, deposited his paper on the bar, before responding.

"Been traveling, Tom. Big world, little England. This place has gone to hell since I left, I suppose? Think I could get a fire whiskey? We can drink to the end of the world if it tickles your fancy."

Tom nodded, filling 2 glasses to the brim, and bringing one of them over to Tom, and the other to an overzealous patron. He yelled he was taking a break, and that this would be the last round for 10 minutes, before fulfilling the onrush of orders that came to the bar, and sidling over the Cornelius, a butter beer in hand.

"Cheers, Cornelius."

The two men clinked their glasses, before taking a long draught from them. Tom glanced a peep the paper that Fudge was absently fondling as he sipped from his fire whiskey.

"What're the day's headlines, then? More doom and gloom, no doubt."

Fudge looked at the paper, as though surprised it was there, before beginning to unroll.

"Not rightly sure. I'll check, shall I?"

He flattened the paper out, and began reciting the headlines out to Tom.

"…and it seems that some of Mr. Potter's friends have died."

Tom looked up from his drink curiously.

"Oh? Which ones? Mr. Potter kept some good, quality company he did. Great bunch of folks."

Fudge surveyed the two pictures beside the article, before shrugging. He got a strange sense of familiarity, but he hadn't been in the country for 6 years or so, so he couldn't really be sure who they were. Instead, he turned the paper around to allow Tom to inspect the pictures of the wavy haired blonde, and the straight haired brunette.

Tom choked on his drink, causing some of the butter beer he was drinking to go back into his glass.

"Aw, naw. Not Ms. Granger n' Ms. Delacour! Those two were wonderful little lassies, and damn pretty to boot. Did this old face of mine good to see those two walkin' in here everyday. Butter beer n' coffee, always the same order. S'a real shame, a real shame. Wonder what they were doin' round each other. Seems to me that the few times they were in my little shop together they tried their best to stay the hell away from each other."

Cornelius took another sip from his drink, and shrugged.

"Voldemort attacked the coffee house they were at, it appears."

Tom sighed, and leaned into his elbows.

"Course' he did. Bastard."

* * *

Fleur flickered her eyes open, and groaned softly, rolling over to push her face into the soft cushion she seemed to be lying on. Murmuring, she turned back over, and sat up, and was greeted by the smiling face of Hermione Anne Granger.

"You even _groan_ sexy, Fleur."

Fleur chuckled, and leaned her head against the purple wall behind her. She cast a glance around the room, raising her eye at the violent purple colouring of the room.

"An' _where_ ec'zactly are we, Ms. Granger?"

"Dead, I imagine. Voldemort messed us up pretty good, didn't he?"

Fleur let out another chuckle, before groaning as she overexerted herself.

"Zis' explains ze pain, no?"

Hermione laughed, and leaned back against the wall behind her, letting her legs hang over the 'bed' she sat on.

"Oo'evair designed this place had ze 'orst sense of style. Evair." Stated Fleur blankly, looking at the walls around her. Hermione nodded absently. They both sat there for a few minutes in silence, before a hole began to burn through one of the walls. Even then, the only speech they made was commenting on how good the purple looked after being burnt through. They listened as their guide gave them a speech, detailing that they were dead, and now about to head to metropolis. They chatted mildly as they stood in line, waiting to enter through the gates of Metropolis.

They offered the goblins standing around the gate their names courteously, before walking through the door, their guide right behind them.

"I like 'zis place!" exclaimed Fleur as they stepped out of the portal, and into Metropolis' central square. Hermione couldn't help but agree as she looked at the mix of various cultures in this one little square. Off to the corner was a building very much inspired by the Taj Mahal, and right beside that a tall building of English influence, and just beside **that** a building built to a French style.

"So, ladies, know any dead people? I'll lead you to em' and they can show you roun' town, eh?" Fleur and Hermione both looked at each other, then at the guide, before speaking at the exact same time.

"Harry Potter." The guide, a man with a pig's head, dressed in a slick black suit, politely inquired about spelling, before punching the name into the little computer embedded into his arm.

"Mmmm… Seems to be a new death then… Hold on, let me call… Yeah! Yep. Harry Potter." He looked at Hermione and Fleur and mouthed 'Black hair, green eyes?' they both nodded. "Yep. That's the one. Still with his guide, eh? Quad 4, Zone 3? 732 Illsbury. Alright. Thanks, Xerculon. There's a poker ga- oh, sorry, can't make it. Gotta please the missus. Alright, cya."

The guide tapped a red button on his computer, before nodding and motioning for Fleur and Hermione to follow him as he walked down the northwestern road. Both of the two stunning ladies could barely contain themselves, and were now speaking animatedly to each other. A few minutes later, and some moments where their guide looked hopelessly lost, Fleur and Hermione were standing on the doorstep of 732 Illsbury, a house inspired by the Victorian era, and looking very similar to Godric's Hollow, saying their goodbye's to the pig-headed guide.

As the character left, Hermione nervously raised her hand to the door, and rapped her knuckles against it. Fleur stood beside her, a nervous energy burning in her eyes. The two were ready for most anything.

But they were most certainly not ready to see the sight that they did see. James Potter had pulled open the door, and over his shoulder, Harry was holding hands with a bubble gum haired witch, who Hermione recognized as Tonks. And identical thoughts crossed the two witch's minds as they saw this.

_WHAT?!!?!_

* * *

Harry's eyes shot out of skull, although in a completely figurative sense, when he saw the two women standing in the doorway. He quickly let go of Tonks' hand upon seeing Fleur, and braced for a screeching when he saw Hermione. Tonks looked highly offended.

Fleur pushed James out of the way, fire leaping around her aqua eyes, ridged spikes forming on her back. With every step she took, the ridges grew more pronounced, until she was right in front of him, and wings had burst through the back of her robes. Flames danced around her hands.

Hermione had also stalked forward, knocking James, who had already been off balance due to Fleur's shove, to the floor. Harry had never thought that a girl as petit as Hermione would scare him more than Voldemort ever had. His eyes jumped to the wand in Hermione's hand, to the flames in Fleur's to the angered features of Tonks, before looking straight up and whispering.

"What'd I ever do to you, man?"

Then Fleur grabbed Harry by the collar, and slammed him up against the wall, rage burning through her eyes. Hermione positioned her wand in the gap between Fleur's neck and shoulder, pointed directly a Harry's face.

"Uh… hi?" Harry plastered his best cheesy grin on his face, pushing his hands against the wall, trying to eject his wands from their holsters. He had no plan on hurting this two, but they certainly looked like they planned on hurting him.

Tonks went from angry at Harry, to angry at Fleur and Hermione. Where the _fuck_ did they get off slamming _her_ man into a wall?!?

"Hey, what the f-" Tonks' protest was cut short by Lily clamping her hand over her mouth, shaking her head furiously, and whispering.

"No, no, no, no. I sense my son hasn't been entirely honest with you. Or either of these two girls."

Sirius who had come running into the foyer upon hearing James crash to the ground, burst out in laughter, with his best friend joining him only moments later.

In unison, the elder duo roared, and roared, and roared at Harry's predicament.

"Looks like Harry figured out how to score himself a Veela!" laughed Sirius, talking about Fleur, hanging onto the wall for support through his peals of laughter. "But he wasn't smart enough to figure out not to piss her off!"

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!" roared James. But James' laughter came to an abrupt halt when his wife's gaze burned a figurative hole into his skull. Sirius, of course, just kept laughing. Lily began to stalk over to her husband, seemingly set to kill.

"Er… Should I set up the couch? … I love y-… Don't hurt me!"

* * *

A/N: Harry/Hermione is a **possibility** in this fic. I just want to keep my roads open. See ya next month, folks. I might even have a little present for you if I can get around to it. And thanks to my lovely beta readers! 


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